


Love Bites

by Batsymomma11



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, Gavin Reed Whump, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 22:12:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17775158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Gavin and Nines have been partners for three months. They've graduated from enemies to friends and now there just seems to be a bit--more. When Gavin's health takes a turn for the worse, Nines realizes exactly what that 'more' is and that it's just as frightening as he imagined it would be.





	Love Bites

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Detroit: Become Human nor do I own the characters. I do own this storyline. 
> 
> Title of the fic comes from the Def Leopard song Love Bites.

           Gavin Reed was a damn good police officer. Sure, he mouthed off a lot and he had a few minor correctional marks from his superiors on his records, but he did the job and he did it well. He knew homicide. He knew drug trafficking and sex crimes. If there was a crime in Detroit, Reed had seen it, experienced it, and was probably one of the best guys in the unit to work with as far as closing a case went. Though he didn’t always work by the book.

            Maybe he pushed the lines. Tested how far he could get away with an interrogation. But he got results, didn’t he? He got answers.

            His way.

            The RK900 who had been assigned to him over the last three months just didn’t understand that. Nor would he ever. Because he was a tin-can. A machine with no gut instinct or real thoughts of his own. The pile of plastic could read heart rate and pupillary size, make an educated deduction based off some numbers, but he couldn’t get instinct. That wasn’t something a robot could have. That was something only Reed, a real human cop, could understand.

            “Detective, I detect only a twenty-four percent chance of a lead being unearthed from the current direction of your investigation. Might I suggest another route that might get us more information?”

            “No.”

            “But if I am able to determine—”

            “I said no, Nines. You want it on a fucking postcard? I’m on to something. And if you let me do my job, I’d probably have already gotten what I’m looking for.”

            The RK900 frowned, “And what are you looking for, detective?”

            “A connection.”

            “There appears to be no connection between the killer and his victim. It was a random attack.”

            “That you know of. But I think differently. I think—she knew him. I just need to find the right angle.”

            “What information are you basing this off of?”

            “A hunch.”

            Nines shook its head, his expression still confused, “A hunch has no scientific base. It’s not real. Police work is about investigating what is seen, not what is felt.”

            “Wrong. It’s about both. And deducing what you can from that information dip-shit. Now please, if you pretty fucking please, shut up so I can finish this. I can’t even think with you hovering. Go make yourself useful.”

            The RK shifted at his desk, drummed his fingers on the wood then, “How would you find me most useful?”

            “You know what?” Reed growled, “Get me a cup of coffee. Make it a big cup of coffee.”

            “Alright, detective, I can do that.”

            “Good. Great,” Reed grumbled, shifting his attention back to the crime scene photos he was poring over. He wanted to take a second look at the crowd photographed during the initial finding of the body. He was hoping to get lucky in making a connection between the killer wanting a second look at the body and one of the persons of interest they’d interviewed. He was missing something. He could feel it.

            But he certainly didn’t find it before end of shift.

            Tossing on his jacket, grabbing his smokes and his keys, Gavin barely spared a glance for Nines. Not that Nines gave a fuck what he was up to or doing anyway.

            The drive home felt longer than usual and by the time Gavin got up the four fucking flights of stairs to his apartment, his belly button felt like it was gnawing on his backbone from hunger. He made a messy PB and J sandwich, then meandered over to his pantry and took the entire bag of potato chips with to plop in front of the TV.

            He fell asleep sometime before Wheels of Fortune and ended up with Ruffles stuck to his face and a crick his neck when he jerked awake hours later. Someone was fucking knocking at his door.

            Admittedly, Gavin was a world-class jerk to anyone who dared fuck with his sleep. He didn’t get much of it to begin with, so if he was managing a few hours of shut-eye, then he expected people to respect that. He didn’t do middle of the night interruptions.

            It shouldn’t have surprised him that Nines was standing on his doorstep when he ripped the door open. But there was a part of Gavin, that short-circuited when he saw those long legs in jeans rather than slacks. Nines was wearing a hoody. A motherfucking hoody.

            “What the fuck?” Gavin blinked, “What are you doing here, plastic? It’s the middle of the night.”

            “I think I found a connection between the killer and the victim. The one you were looking for.”

            “You serious?”

            Nines frowned, brows drawing low on his face as his LED circled yellow. “Well, yes. I’m very serious. I wouldn’t have come all this way—”

            “Jesus, fucking—Nines, go home. Go to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”

            “But I couldn’t sleep and I’ve found a lead.”

            “It can wait a few hours.”

            “Detective—”

            Gavin scowled, “Fuckin’ A, fine. Come in.”

            Nines’ smiled a little like he was trying to placate a four-year-old. Which should have been annoying but it was somehow endearing on that stupid face. Gavin didn’t bother offering a drink or asking if Nines wanted something to eat. He breezed by the android and headed straight to his coffee pot. A minute of silence later, Gavin had a pot brewing and Nines was leaning against his kitchen counter, looking decidedly too big to be in such a small sterile looking place.

            “Since when do you wear jeans?”

            Nines blinked, looked down at himself, “I’m not on duty.”

            Gavin shrugged, moving to pull down a mug for himself, “Whatever. What’s the lead?”

            “The killer and the victim could have met on the subway. There would be no discernable way to connect them together otherwise. He likely met her, spoke to her, rode the same time every day to build a repertoire, then kidnapped and killed her.”

            “That’s an interesting theory.” One Gavin hadn’t thought of.

            “My theory has an eighty-two percent chance of being correct. It’s a damn good theory.”

            Gavin smirked, reaching for the barely brewed coffee to fill his mug. It steamed up over the edge and dampened his face when he drew it close to breathe in the scent. “Touchy tonight, aren’t you plastic?”

            “I’m not touchy. I’m—on edge. Like I said, I couldn’t sleep. Now that I’ve informed you of my lead, what do you think? I am anxious to know how you’d like to proceed.”

            “Well,” Gavin sipped delicately at the scalding liquid, “I could call Fowler in the morning, get a warrant for ticket sales of the subway circuit closest to the victim’s house. Then we could cross-reference any ticket buyers with those that might have a criminal record. Sexual assault or stalking being one of the crimes we cross-reference.”

            “I like that.”

            Gavin refused to acknowledge the flare of surprise in that. “It’ll take time.”

            “All cases do.”

            Gavin nodded, “I’m tired now. I heard your theory. It’s a solid one. Now, get your ass out of my apartment.”

            “About that—” Nines’ LED flickered a red, then went to steady yellow, “It’s only a couple hours to sunrise and I seem to have lost my ride with Connor for tomorrow, if it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience, I could stay here and leave with you in the morning.”

            “You want to stay? Here?”

            Nines nodded, tipping his head, “Is that too much of an inconvenience, Detective?”

            Gavin suddenly felt uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was standing barefoot, with Ruffles chip impressions on one cheek and probably looked like shit. He was also taking far too long in responding.

            “No. It’s fine. Just—don’t fucking touch any of my stuff. You can sleep on the couch.”

            “I don’t need to sleep.”

            “Then do your resting shit or whatever it is you do.”

            “Stasis.”

            Gavin growled low with warning, stepped around Nines then headed for his bedroom, “I don’t give a fuck. Just don’t wake me up before six or I’ll fucking rip your pump out and make you eat it.”

            “Understood, Detective.”

            Gavin stopped midway down the hall, his shoulders bunching angrily, “Fuck, Nines. We’ve been partners for three months. Call me Gavin. It’s my fucking name.”

            “I—” Gavin didn’t need to look to hear the uncertainty in Nines’ voice or the hesitation. “I apologize…Gavin.”

            “Great,” he tossed back, kicked open his door. “Night, tin-can.”

            “Goodnight, Gavin.”

 

***

 

            Nines didn’t need to sleep but he still did allow himself to slip into stasis for about an hour. Close to six am, he roused and tidied up the living room. Gavin had left out a bag of potato chips and from his analysis of the crumbs on the couch cushions, he’d had peanut butter and jelly for supper.

            A poor meal for nutritional quality.

            Nines silently determined he should make the detective something better to eat. As a thank you for being willing to allow him to stay and catch a ride into the station.

            He made eggs and bacon, started a fresh pot of coffee and carefully arranged breakfast on Gavin’s tiny excuse for a table. There was no dining room, but the kitchenette did offer a small niche of space for one to sit. Nines made sure to lay out cream and sugar for the coffee, since he knew Gavin liked his first cup prepared in such a fashion and belatedly added hot sauce as an option on the table. In case Gavin liked his eggs prepared that way.

            Some did. Perhaps Gavin was one of them.

            When Gavin came shuffling into the kitchen at six-thirty with no shirt and a pair of track pants hanging far too low on his hips, Nines found himself a little—stunned.

            He’d not seen the detective unclothed. Or rather, half-clothed, in such a manner.

            The man wasn’t overly buff, but rather lean and sculpted. Careful edges and smooth lines. Tapered hips with just broad enough shoulders to compliment his more average height. Nines knew that Gavin was only around sixty-eight inches. But he’d never been bothered by having to look down to make eye contact with the man.

            If he were completely honest, he’d say he enjoyed that. Because it meant Gavin had to look up, to glare properly at Nines. It was a trade-off.

            “What the fuck are you staring at?” Gavin’s voice came out like he’d smoked an entire pack of Marlboro’s and it made Nines frown.

            “Are you alright?”

            “It’s morning,” Gavin answered, bee-lining for the coffee on the table. He took two big swallows before stopping to add in cream and sugar then hesitated as he blinked down at the setup. “You made breakfast?”

            “Yes. I thought it a suitable thank you for allowing me to stay last night.”

            “Shit,” Gavin fell more than sat into the chair in front of the plate full of eggs he poked at it with the fork, “You didn’t need to do that.”

            “I thought you might be hungry.”

            “I am,” Gavin stuffed a bite into his mouth, hummed with approval, then kept eating.

            It mattered very little that Nines felt a sense of accomplishment over being able to feed Gavin something he was willing to eat. Or that he thought his cooking good. Nines had downloaded cooking software weeks ago when he’d wanted to help Connor prepare a meal for Hank. It wasn’t a ‘big deal’. Still, there was something far too rewarding about watching Gavin eat something Nines had made for him.

            “You need a shower or anything?”

            Nines stared, his LED whirling yellow for a moment, then shook his head. “No. My skin is antimicrobial and I don’t need to bathe frequently.”

            “That’s—nice,” Gavin rolled his eyes, “I need a shower. I’ll be ready in about fifteen, then we can leave. Good?”

            “Yes, thank you.”

            Nines waited patiently for Gavin to finish on the sofa. He heard the shower, listened to Gavin sing something that sounded like a rock ballad to himself then quietly imagined the detective dressing in the bedroom. When Gavin came out in dark jeans, a hoody, and boots, Nines almost smiled. Almost.

            “Ready tin-can?”

            “Yes.” 

            “Let’s get this shit show on the road.”

           

 

             Gavin was a persistent man.

             He worked for tireless hours. He did the ‘shit jobs’ no one else on the department wanted to do. He was loud and brash and rude, but an excellent detective. He could solve and close cases almost as well as an android might be expected to.

             And though Nines had felt extremely agitated and frustrated to be paired with such a loudmouthed obviously anti-android human a few months previous, he no longer felt the same. Time had proven a buffer and through several cases and forced closeness, Nines and Gavin had formed a—bond.

             A sort of work relationship that flowed better than Nines could have predicted.

            Still, over the course of the last months, there had been some troubling developments in Nines’ response to simple unrelated aspects of their relationship. Nines was increasingly concerned over Gavin’s health. To some degree, Nines had always been interested in keeping his partner healthy. That meant suggesting balanced meals, getting rest, and explaining how unhealthy smoking was for the human body.

            But Nines’ concern over Gavin’s welfare had subtly changed from superficial basic needs to more. Nines now found himself worried over Gavin’s happiness. Was he stressed? Overwhelmed? Did he have dark circles under his eyes because of nightmares?

            The questions that arose in Nines bothered him immensely. Agitated his processers and made him feel like he was just beginning to learn deviancy, which was far from the case. He was created deviant. At the time of his activation, the revolution had already happened, and he’d been woken with no orders to deviate from. Essentially, he was born with the capacity for emotions straight away.

            He’d spent the last months learning himself and those new emotions.

            But these feelings and these worries over Gavin Reed’s welfare were perplexing. Frustrating and unhelpful to their work.

            “Hey, plastic, I’ve been talking to you for five minutes. You hear anything I just said?”

            Nines looked over his terminal at Gavin and forced a smile to his mouth; it felt as fake as it probably looked. Nines wondered if Gavin could tell.

           “Apologies, Detective Reed. I was—lost in thought.”

           “Can a plastic really get lost in thought?”

            Nines shrugged, “I was computing data. So, yes.”

           “Well compute your data on the run. I’m starving and we’re getting lunch on the way to the DOT headquarters.”

           “I don’t need to eat.”

           “Then you can watch me eat, dipshit. I need food.”

            They stopped at a Steak and Shake and Gavin ordered a large fry and milkshake. For all his bravado of needing sustenance, Gavin wasn’t eating nearly as much as expected. He’d seen Gavin put away enough food to be sickening, which made his lean physique all the more intriguing. Though, Gavin _was_ an avid gym-goer. 

            “What?” Gavin mumbled around a fry.

            “You said you were starving.”

            “Mixed signals maybe. I dunno. My stomach is a little upset. No bigs.”

           “Should you be eating that then?” Nines said thoughtfully, pointing at the sugary shake, “If your stomach is upset, consuming sugary additives will likely make it worse.”

           “I’m a grown-ass man, tin-can. I can eat whatever the fuck I want.”

            “Old enough to be stupid.”

            Gavin stared at him, then laughed, “Exactly.”

            An hour later, after a very frustrating meeting with DOT management, they were sitting in front of rows of monitors, pouring over CCTV footage. If the perpetrator ever made contact with the victim, he would need to have had a conversation with her. Likely a few.

              Nines was riveted on the screens, using his own facial recognition software to file through the data at a much faster rate than any human could possibly accomplish. Minutes passed, maybe an hour, then Nines noticed Gavin was shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

             “You alright detective?”

              Gavin made a sour face and in the sparse lighting, he looked a little too pale. But it could be the lighting playing tricks. “Didn’t I fucking tell you to call me Gavin? Didn’t we seriously just have this conversation last night? Jesus.”

              “I apologize.”

              “Fuck,” Gavin groaned, low and pinched, “I—I think I might sick. I need—a bathroom.”

              “There is a bathroom two doors down, just outside the hallway. Would you like—”

               Gavin was already up and darting out the door, shooting out of sight. Nines felt it was his duty, as a protective partner to follow. He needed to be assured of his partner’s health of course.

                It wasn’t because he was worried and wanted to be there for Gavin. That wasn’t it at all. Because that wouldn’t make much sense.

                Nines found Gavin hunched over a toilet bowl in the last stall, hugging the porcelain in a way that might have looked like adoration. But was far from it. He heaved back arching, groaning in between bursts of vomit. It was—painful to watch.

                Worrying.

                Nines was worried. He’d never seen his partner ill.

                Hurt, yes. It was part of the job. But not ill. There was something decidedly more vulnerable about seeing Gavin Reed so violently lose control of his body.

               “Fuuuuck,” Gavin spat the word out, finally finishing and flushing away the evidence. When he rolled and found Nines standing awkwardly at the bathroom door, he didn’t appear to have enough energy to work up a scowl.

               “You are ill, Gavin.”

               “No shit, Sherlock. You gonna help me up?”

               “Of course,” Nines said automatically, reaching out to tug Gavin to his feet. When he did, the detective swayed a little, his color going from white to green again and Nines braced to help him back to the toilet, if needs be.

                “I’m alright,” Gavin murmured, “It’s fine. Just need to get home.”

                “Are you sure you don’t want the hospital?”

                “Just a fucking stomach—” Gavin swallowed thickly, pressing a hand flat to his stomach, “stomach bug. It’s fine.”

                Nines drove Gavin home. He helped him inside his apartment and when he left Gavin under a pile of blankets in his bed, he hesitated at the door, unable to make his body leave.

                “Are you sure I cannot stay to help?”

                “I don’t like being sick in front of anyone. I don’t need a fucking audience, okay? Get out, tin-can.”

                “I am concerned,” Nines said quietly, aware his LED was flickering between yellow and red. He could not stop it. And he had no reason to feel embarrassed that his worry showed. “Perhaps I should stay. In case.”

                “You know what?” Gavin’s eyes were closed, and he sounded drugged, “Knock yourself out. I don’t fucking care. Just get out.”

                 Nines nodded sharply, closed the bedroom door and assumed his post on the sofa. An hour later, when he heard Gavin barreling out of the bedroom to the bathroom, he was glad that he had stayed. Gavin was throwing up blood.


End file.
